Tortured
by Kitty O
Summary: Sir Elyan the Scared, the man who betrayed his king. He had nightmares. No slash, oneshot/ficlet.


The knights of Camelot were a special group. Sir Gwaine, the smiling drunkard with an unmatched strength of heart. Sir Percival, the large, soft-hearted chivalrous man. Sir Leon, the loyal one who could think on his feet. Sir Lancelot, now dead, the noblest of the whole lot.

And then there was Sir Elyan.

Sir Elyan the what?

He wasn't really too much of anything. He didn't have Gwaine's buoyancy, or Percival's size, or Leon's seniority. He was the in-between. He had humor, but not too much; strength, but not too much; skill, but not too much.

He'd always thought it was rather nice.

But now he was wishing there was something extraordinary about himself, something he could cling to. Because if he needed a name at this moment, he thought that it would have to be Sir Elyan the Scared, who betrayed his king.

Everyone else had bounced back from Morgana's latest attack. Gwaine was already regaling people in the tavern with how he'd taken on half the army with a wooden sword. Percival was enjoying himself, too; he was currently refusing to tell anyone how he'd dropped to the ground right after being attacked and somehow gotten away and found Leon. Even Gaius had recovered from nearly starving.

But not Elyan. Elyan hadn't bounced back.

Elyan couldn't forget the pain. He couldn't forget that he'd betrayed the king's location—only several weeks after he'd gotten himself possessed and tried to kill his king! Arthur hadn't held it against him, bless him, because Arthur was as magnanimous as they came. The rest of the castle considered it forgotten.

It wasn't forgotten.

He had nightmares.

He would toss in his bed, sweating and eyes rolling, panicked because he was sure he was writhing on the throne room floor again, writhing like a snake stabbed through with a stick. He tried not to scream – no one knew about the nightmares. But he was so scared. So scared.

Sir Elyan the Scared.

He thought that perhaps, if he hadn't given in, if he'd stayed strong and hadn't let Morgana get her talons into his flesh, then he wouldn't have such dreams.

But he had and she did and now he was having them.

Arthur was noticing that he wasn't sleeping enough and doing miserably during practice. He would need to sleep more, regardless of the horror, because he didn't want Arthur to know, of all people.

He was dealing with it as best he could. Bu_t would the torture never end? _

He hated snakes, too. That one was a little harder to hide. He thought that Merlin had noticed and perhaps even realized why.

They'd all been sitting around outside when the animal had slithered up, and when Elyan saw it near his hand, he'd nearly panicked. He couldn't breathe, thinking it would bite him. He shuddered and froze, but Percival lifted the serpent away from him and laughed.

"It doesn't bite," the big man said. "It's harmless."

And then they all laughed. Not unkindly, but they didn't understand why Elyan ducked his head and glowered at the ground. They didn't understand that for a second there, he'd been transported back.

But when he looked up, Merlin was not laughing. Instead the servant (who Elyan had never been really all that close to) was watching him sympathetically, and quietly, when no one else could hear, he said, "I don't like snakes, either. They just seem evil, don't they?"

He'd smiled and passed Elyan a drink.

It had been going on for about a week and Elyan couldn't take it. He was leaving. He couldn't do this.

So one night when everyone was already sleeping, Elyan packed his bag and headed out the castle and into the near-empty street. The guards wouldn't give him any trouble.

Besides, he'd always been one for rambling around before. He'd probably been crazy to think he could change.

He headed out into the dark night and towards the trees. He was out the gates before he knew it. No one gave him trouble. And then once again he was free, no confining walls, and he guessed that made him happy. But he didn't really feel it.

He should have told Gwen goodbye.

Then, at the very mouth of the forest, just at the beginning of the umbrage of trees, he ran into something. He bumped up against it right there, and its obduracy kept him from taking another step. It was like a wall.

He ran into his heart. It hurt, too.

Looking back at Camelot, he sighed. He'd always had the heart of a vagabond and a gypsy, but perhaps when they knighted you they gave you a new heart. Because this heart didn't want to leave Camelot. It wanted to stay with its king and queen and friends. It didn't want to run away, but to stay and face up to it all. It wanted to work through this.

It was a strange thing.

And where the old heart had been grayed and old and weary, this heart was still new and white. Despite the mistakes he'd already made, it was still clean and empty and white and ready for him to make something happen with it.

(Sir Elyan the White, that's what they'd call him.)

He didn't want to put running away on it, too. What he had now was quite enough. And now that he'd met his new heart, he couldn't let it down. He had to face his problems now.

So he turned around and went right back home.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I've heard that there actually was an Elyan the White. So that's why I put that. I wrote this because… Poor Elyan. Tortured "to the edge of human endurance" and nobody even cares. What is it with these people?**

**Review?**


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